


The Miracle

by AeeDee



Series: The Miracle [3]
Category: Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Blow Jobs, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-25 02:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeeDee/pseuds/AeeDee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another fill from the <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/tronkinkmeme/">Tron kink meme</a>, but I was able to make this function as a sequel to my earlier fic, Could've Been Worse. Sam and Alan are starting to build a relationship... when an unexpected visitor arrives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> Because I wrote with consideration to the actual film's canon, this contains significant **spoilers** for the Tron: Legacy film. Do not read this if you haven't seen it, or you might be severely irritated.

No one could explain the miracle. Not this one. A man, disintegrated into a million pieces, had returned from the dead.

Alan showed up at Sam’s doorstep in the middle of the night, when it was pouring rain. He’d arrived hours later than he’d wanted, but an obligation got in the way. These days, there were few promises he could keep to his wife, so he tried to honor what few he’d made. One of them was to enjoy their anniversary dinner, even if they both knew he wasn’t in love with her anymore. They went to a nice restaurant, and neither made a scene; but when she gave him a shallow and quick kiss goodbye, she was purposeful in going home without him. She’d brought a separate vehicle, her own personal car that ordinarily never left their garage, specifically for that purpose. The gas was expensive and they couldn’t afford to use it, but she insisted that, even though she’d take him up on the pleasant dinner he promised some weeks ago, she’d let him go his own way after. He’d made the mistake of mentioning that he wouldn’t be home later in the evening, for an obligation he refused to name. She didn’t question his commitment because she didn’t want to.

She knew he was having an affair. He hadn’t told her at first, but she’d caught him sneaking in a bit too late, far too many nights out of the week. He’d tried to be more subtle, but he found it increasingly difficult. Once he began that ill-advised affair with Sam, he found it impossible to stay away for too long. He’d lay beside his wife in their bed and let his mind wander. On some nights it seemed the only way he could fall asleep at all.

He thought of Sam’s apartment. Of his bedroom, where they made love. Of that familiar image of Sam asleep at the small kitchen table. And of the quiet “I love you,” that he thought he’d never hear in all his life, now repeated on an almost daily basis.

It was all too pleasant to be true. Too fortunate, apart from the moments he spent at home with his wife, who at this point was just following the motions. She knew they were drifting apart, but she was too angry and frustrated to not let it happen. She’d lost her will to stop it, especially when Alan had made the mistake of admitting he was seeing a man, of all things. She’d nodded, cried about it later that night, and inevitably told him that she didn’t mind if he was gay; she was glad he told her, and that it was better to know the truth. A blatant lie, but it was the last comment she made on the subject.

Their last remaining days together, for however long they were gonna last, were tense. Stressed and eerily quiet; several hours would pass with no communication, verbal or physical. But…

When he’d arrive at Sam’s apartment, and whenever Sam answered his knock on the door, he’d feel an overwhelming sense of calm. His entire being felt lifted, lightened somehow as the weight would dissolve off his shoulders. He’d step in, sometimes apologize for being late, and would wave or smile to Quorra, who was usually perched on the couch watching a new television program. She liked ongoing stories, so it was often a different episode of the same one. Sam hated the majority of the shows she loved, but he was too kind to tell her. He had an incredible amount of sympathy and patience for Quorra; Alan respected that about him. But she was such a delight that he found it difficult to imagine anything different.

Quorra was amazing. At this point he’d come to adore her almost as much as Sam did. As he’d always believed, she really was Sam’s equal. She was smart and clever and brave and funny; she was everything a young man like him would want in a woman.

Which was somewhat puzzling to him. For everything Quorra was, she was becoming somewhat of a threat to their current arrangement. He felt immature and oddly juvenile to think on it, but what would happen as Sam got to knew her better… What would happen to him when Sam came to realize how beautiful and wonderful she was…

And what of him, Alan. A broken marriage, a disappointing position at work that was only slightly getting better with Sam’s more active role in the company, and years of regret. When Sam was done with him, he’d be slightly better off from the experience, but still as old and weary as before. This was the sort of experience that didn’t give him hope for the future; if anything, he knew that when push came to shove, he’d only feel a new ache and mourning of something precious he’d had and completely lost. Once an opportunity like this is gone, it never comes around again.

But he didn’t feel like dwelling on that now. Not tonight.

When the door opens, the first thing out of his mouth is, “Sorry I’m late,” but he catches himself when Sam’s expression is far more tense and stressed than usual. His eyes acknowledge him like always, but he seems unnaturally stiff and unnatural, like there’s something dramatically different. Something wrong.

Alan is about to question it, when a familiar figure appears behind Sam, looming over him as if immensely curious. The room is dim, but he can see that face clearly enough. And the boy stands back, to allow that man to step forward, to where Alan can see him more clearly.

“Oh,” he begins hesitantly, before he knows what to say. Without thinking, he says the first thing that comes to mind. Something that’s more jubilant and surprised than he expected. He feels more of a thrill than he anticipated, “Oh my God Flynn, you old bastard!” He feels such a rush that he feels his chest pounding.

Alan steps inside, to get a better look at the man as Sam closes the door behind him. Kevin Flynn is noticeably older looking than when they last met all those years ago—well truthfully he looks like Hell—but there’s no mistaking that familiar grin, “Good to see you too buddy.”

“You found him?” he questions Sam; but when he looks in his direction, the boy’s still out of sorts. His face is clearly overwhelmed, as he seems to nearly speak, and decides against it. His eyes are nearly masking a profound sadness that startles Alan as he realizes it. Sam breaks their eye contact as he shuffles to a different part to the room, but it concerns him tremendously. His instinct tells him to ask and address the problem, but with Flynn in the room, it’d be too bizarre. His concern might seem a tad too hasty. First he needed to understand the situation, “When did you get back?”

“Days ago, man,” Kevin drawls. “I got lost in this damn town. You have no idea how hard it was to find this place,” he strolls idly, moving to sit beside Quorra on the couch, as he gives her a quick, amused glance; like he genuinely can’t believe he’s actually here, looking at her. He continues, “This kid’s got a way of hiding in plain sight.”

At this point Sam finally steps forward, and takes a seat on an adjacent armchair. He continues to stare at Kevin Flynn, but it’s not the look Alan was expecting. It’s a look of confusion. Tense, anxious confusion.

And when he finally speaks, he does so cautiously, like he’s on the edge of some emotional reaction he’s trying to subdue and bury, “How did… How did you get here, Dad?”

Alan doesn’t know where this sense of caution is coming from, but he’s intrigued and fascinated by it. There apparently some back-story he missed, and his mind starts to run wild with possibilities. This isn’t the reaction of a kid that’s just seen his father for the first time in twenty-something years. Or is it?

Kevin Flynn either doesn’t pick up on his son’s scrutiny, or he doesn’t let it bother him. When he speaks, he almost raves like a madman, throwing his hands up in the air with animated delight, “It was so crazy, man. One minute, I’m nothing, and then… I wake up right here.” He pauses, correcting himself immediately, “N-not right here, but in my workshop, my office. Just sittin’ there like I never left.” He stops again, and leans towards Sam, expecting him to mirror his astonishment, “Like it never happened at all.”

“But it did,” Sam grimly replies. “You were disintegrated.”

At this point, Alan’s eyes grow wide. He definitely missed something. And a part of him wonders why Sam never told this part of the story. He’d mentioned entering the grid, but he’d been suspiciously mum on the details. He never mentioned a word about Kevin Flynn, apart from that he was in the grid. “He was there,” that’s all he said. He refused to say anything else, abruptly ending that conversation by changing the subject to something mundane.

“I know, that’s the crazy part,” Flynn’s eyes grow wide. “I was.”

Sam just seems to sigh, and puts a hand to his forehead, pressing as if trying to relieve some stress.

“What’s the big _deal_?” Flynn reclines back, putting an arm around Quorra, “You not happy to see me?” his voice is incredulous and irritated.

“No, Dad,” Sam relaxes a tad, and sighs. A faint smile tugs at his face, but it’s more out of stress than anything, “I...” He shakes his head and says, “I need a minute.”

He leaves the room, turning his back on an extraordinarily perplexed, annoyed Kevin Flynn. “Well, I’m glad to see _you_!” he calls after him sarcastically. But Sam just keeps walking, vanishing out his front door.

Quorra finally cuts in, attempting to lighten the mood, “I am glad to see you,” with a smile.

“It’s good to be back, honey,” Flynn smiles at her.

Surprising even to himself, Alan’s more interested in Sam’s situation than the arrival of Kevin Flynn. He feels a distracting, overwhelming impulse to remedy whatever’s wrong with him. “I’m gonna see what his problem is,” he says it with some humor to mask his concern.

Flynn seems a tad miffed at Alan leaving, “Leaving so soon?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right back,” he says it calmly, projecting a confident air.

Flynn grins at that, “Don’t take too long.”

But his calm reaction doesn’t mean he’s not suspicious. He’s just not sure what to suspect, exactly. Between Sam’s sour mood and Alan’s haste to flee the scene, this is not the welcoming he expected.

He sighs, “What a bummer,” but Quorra’s not entirely sure what he means.

-

“You okay?” Alan asks him in a quiet voice, as he walks up behind him. Standing there, Sam is completely still, paused at the edge of his yard where the grass meets water. In the dark, cloudy night he’s ethereal and beautiful, but his posture is stiff and uncomfortable.

It’s only when Alan comes closer, and comes around to see his face that he realizes the extent of how upset he is. When Sam glances at him, his eyes are on the verge of tears. But he says not a word, as he breaks that contact and stares back out into the lake.

“I’m sure it must be difficult for you,” Alan attempts, in a calm, reassuring voice to get him to open up a little, “To go through all this with your father-”

“You don’t understand,” Sam murmurs. He’s not trying to be mean, he’s just behaving as he ordinarily would; he’s trying to shut Alan down. Sam can accept his moments of weakness, but he hates talking about them. Always has.

“I probably don’t,” Alan admits. “But why don’t you help me out a little?” He looks at Sam intently, but that gesture is met with nothing more than silence.

In the distance, the faint rattling of a train somewhere deep in the city. A train, and the familiar rhythm of traffic. The air is still heavy and thick from the rain, but thankfully there’s almost none of it in sight. But the spare pavement still shines; the dirt beneath them is malleable and wet.

But just as he’s thinking the weather’s cleared up, he feels a spare raindrop land on his forehead. He briefly glances up to see nothing out of the ordinary, save for a batch of drifting clouds. A glance to the far horizon; far more of them lurking. They won’t have much time out here to chat…

Alan tries to open communication again, with a momentary hand on Sam’s shoulder. But as he’s about to speak, Sam cuts him off. “I’ve already lost him twice.”

“What,” Alan can’t quite believe what he’s just heard. It makes sense, but…

“When I was a kid, I really thought he died,” his voice is a lonely murmur disrupting the quiet between them, “and in the Grid, I was… sure.” He bows his head; he has more to say, but he’d rather not voice it.

“What happened in there, Sam?” his tone is patient and hushed, appropriate for exchanging secrets.

“He had to re-integrate Clu,” this time he’s more direct, “When I took Quorra through the portal.”

He didn’t need to say anything else. _Re-integrate_. Alan knows what that means. It’s a frightening word, because it’s synonymous with death. No doubt, Flynn had told Sam that exact thing.

“So he managed to survive,” he attempts.

“More than that. He came back,” Sam corrects him. “Without a disc or a key.”

“Incredible,” he can’t help his initial reaction. That Flynn may have stumbled onto a real breakthrough here. But anything that important could be very dangerous…

Sam sighs a little. At this point, a few raindrops begin to fall, this time at a higher rate. It’s far from a downpour, but Alan knows he’d better wrap this up sometime soon. Sam might be willing to stay out until he’s soaking wet, but Alan sure isn’t. Not in this expensive coat, anyway. Besides, he’d love to hear what else Flynn has to say about all of this.

This time he touches Sam on the back, a light stroke to comfort him. He doesn’t really know what more to do, but he knows there’s more to this. Sam wouldn’t be this bothered about merely the logical impracticality of it all.

“I was relieved the first time I saw him,” he finally says. “But now I’m just… I’m confused, Alan.” He gives him a sideways glance, “How should I just… say hello to someone like that? Like it’s no big deal.”

“He’s so calm, like always,” Alan remarks.

“He’s entirely too calm,” Sam’s frustration starts to show in his rising tone, “I thought he was dead. For good this time.”

“And you’re not unhappy, but…” he tries to draw the rest out of him.

“I’m exhausted, Alan,” he admits. His eyes fall to the ground, and he relaxes as Alan’s hand on his back starts to move again, slowly drawing trails up and down his spine. Even though he’d never admit it, Sam never outgrew his appreciation for that kind of affection. As much as he often felt Alan went a little overboard. “Should I just be like, ‘Hey, that’s cool and all but you’ve been dead to me for weeks.’”

“You just need time,” Alan says. “Maybe you’ll wake up tomorrow and feel better.”

“Yeah, maybe,” but he really doesn’t think so. He just says it to reassure Alan.

The rain is falling harder now. Alan’s noticed that his shoes are getting wet, and he pauses to wipe some water off from his glasses. When he slides them back on, Sam’s standing much closer than he anticipated. Directly in front of him, and he’s momentarily taken back from the sight of the individual drops of water on Sam’s face, and the persistent water dripping from his hair. And for once, Sam doesn’t look quite as sad anymore. Alan doesn’t know what he did or said exactly, but his mood seems far better. Nowhere near close to normal, but better than it was when he arrived. And that was a start.

While he’s taking in the view, Sam startles him by moving forward, and giving him a quick kiss on the mouth. Alan stiffens; Flynn is so close that he’s half-afraid the man’ll jump out right now and yell at them.

But no dice. Sam grins a little, and returns again for another kiss, a better one this time. Alan can’t deny the boy anything, so he indulges him slightly, for a few minutes. Just a few, licking and exploring his mouth in a flirtatious, but oddly sentimental gesture that leaves them both speechless afterwards, in a pleasant calm that lifts the mood substantially.

Sam kisses Alan when he’s upset because it makes him feel better. It reassures him. He knows that. And he doesn’t mind being used for that purpose, but they’re gonna be in real trouble if he gets too bold. So Alan gives him a quick embrace, just to tide him over for a while.

But before he lets go, Sam quickly murmurs an, “I love you,” in his ear.

Predictably, that gives Alan somewhat of a flushed expression when he pulls back. “Yeah,” he’s too nervous to say it right now, “You too Sam.” But his nervousness is…

“Alan,” he laughs a little, “You don’t have to look so embarrassed.” He gently hits him on the shoulder, before turning to head back inside.

But the truth is that he wanted to hear an _I love you, too_. They both are well aware of that. But now is just not a good time.

-

“Sure took forever,” Kevin Flynn is exclaiming, as Sam and Alan stroll back inside. “Are we good now?”

Sam finally manages a small grin; it’s forced, but it’s better than nothing, “Sure, Dad.”

On his way to the couch he meets eyes with Quorra, who smiles at him kindly. Her wide eyes are sparkling as always, but she appears somewhat reserved, as if she knows he’s feeling some stress. She’s considerate enough to not say a word about it to Flynn.

“That’s good to hear,” his attitude relaxes somewhat, and he’s becoming more mellow as everyone settles in. His voice returns to a low husky tone. “How the hell’ve you been, Alan?” he chuckles good-naturedly. “Man I ain’t seen you in years.”

“Been a long time,” Alan admits, as he takes a seat in the last remaining armchair.

“Yeah, long time,” Flynn nods. “You take good care of my boy?”

Alan stiffens up, but he does his best to hide it. Sam glances at Quorra to make sure she doesn’t answer that. And Quorra’s starting to wonder what she’s allowed to say, if anything. This complex situation perplexes her greatly. What should be good news seems to have everyone on edge, and she can’t figure out why.

“I’ve done the best I can,” Alan says, doing his best to remain calm on the surface.

“That’s good,” Flynn nods. So far, he detects no ill-intention or foul play. Alan breathes a small sigh of relief to himself. But Quorra-

“He comes to visit us often,” she says.

“Is that so?” Flynn asks. But he’s not being critical. His posture is open and accepting; he’s completely at ease.

Outside, the rain is falling harder now. That familiar beat of raindrops slamming against the shed walls sounds through the room. Sam cuts in, with a small grin put on for show, “He’s helping me run Encom.”

“Of course,” Kevin smiles. “Glad to see you’re putting that mind to some use, Sam. You had me worried there.”

“Well,” Sam shrugs.

“No girlfriend, no wife, no job… I was gonna have to come down and get your life fixed up, man.”

Sam smirks at that, but he’s not happy to hear it. And he lacks a good comeback, apart from, “I’ve got Marv.” His Dad’s got a way of hitting him where it hurts, without even knowing it.

Alan rescues him, “He’s on the right track. We’ve just gotta,” he glances at Sam, as if verifying the story he’s delivering, “Wait and see what happens. He’ll be just fine.”

“I’m sure he will,” the man nods.

“So how exactly did you escape the grid, Dad?” Sam suddenly shifts the subject. Both Alan and Flynn are startled by it, and even Quorra wisens up as she leans forward, paying close attention to better understand the conversation.

Flynn pauses, and shakes his head, “I told you, man. I just appeared.”

“I know, but how?” Sam is persistent.

“If I knew, you think… Man, I don’t know at all,” Flynn throws his hands up again, exasperated. “That’s something me and Mr. Bradley have to work out.”

“So I’m Mr. Bradley now,” Alan jokes, tongue-in-cheek.

“Seems appropriate enough,” Flynn grins a little.

Alan doesn’t have a reply to that, but he does laugh a little.

“I don’t know how it happened, kid,” Flynn turns his attention back to Sam. “But I’m here now. And I think that’s pretty cool.”

Sam crosses his arms, and just stares blankly at this father. But for some reason, when he says it like that… Sam feels that familiar sensation of tears in his eyes and he tries to bury it with a smile. But he’s not trying to be difficult this time. Like Alan said, he doesn’t even feel as angry or conflicted, just…

“Yeah,” his smile becomes more genuine, and it runs from ear to ear. The instant Flynn notices, he rises to his feet, wasting no time to approach his son, arms open and extended. Alan politely steps back to give them some room, and even Quorra can’t help smiling as Sam stands up to hug him properly. They don’t say anything, but there’s so much baggage and thoughts and time between them that any words they’d manage would have little value.

Sam’s hopes and dreams. That must be what was hurting him so much. The sensation that a hope he’s had for nearly all his life might have been realized. And now he’s crying because it’s the kind of wish he’d already sent off to die.

When Sam was a kid, he wanted, more than anything, for his Dad to come back. But it wasn’t just because he missed him, or was worried about his well-being. He missed the moments they’d shared together. Visiting the arcade, and listening to those insane stories his father would always tell. Things like attending the occasional sports game, and when his Dad would tell jokes over dinner and make him laugh so hard he’d cry. All of those memories, moments in time he thought would never happen again. And now, now that the senior Flynn was weary and old, now…

Now it was all possible. Sam had already recovered from the shock of meeting him in the Grid, but this was beyond anything he’d ever imagined. This was the return he’d always wanted. A return to the normal life they should have had, the family they should have been as father and son.

This could be a sign of greater things to come. Sam could not imagine them all, but he couldn’t wait to find out what was on the horizon.

Their embrace ended, with Flynn smiling and Sam giving a kind of nervous laugh. Now that his emotions had started to come out, he had difficulty keeping himself in check. He was smiling and laughing like he’d malfunctioned, a switch he couldn’t turn off. It felt surprisingly good, but he wasn’t sure what to do with the new sensation. He didn’t really know how to be happy; not completely, like this. He’d been bitter and angry for so long that he’d forgotten what it felt like to be carefree for once.

Except… He knew it wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Because there was still an elephant in the room and everyone except his Dad knew what it was.

Inevitably, the man decided to call it a night. Sam didn’t have a spare room for him, but it was quickly agreed that he’d borrow the bed, and Sam would take the couch. He was younger; he could handle the discomfort better than an old man. That’s what Flynn said, and Sam was too polite to argue.

And as the household began to shut down for the night, Quorra retired to her own corner of the main room, where she turned on a small lamp, and pulled out a new book and an iPod Sam had bought her. Her schedule was understandably different from anyone else’s, so it was not uncommon for her to spend hours reading and listening to music to avoid disturbing anyone.

It was at this point that Alan and Sam found themselves alone, essentially. Flynn was not far, but apart from Quorra’s corner, the room was bathed in darkness. But still, to cover his tracks Alan was smart and spoke quietly in a whisper, “I’m gonna go.”

“Alright,” he wasn’t happy to hear it, but he wasn’t dumb enough to argue. But Alan was too far away… So he gestured to the man to come closer, motioning towards him with a beckoning hand. Alan leaned in to listen, as Sam quietly said, “Goodnight,” and gave him a quick, very faint kiss with no sound. It was more a brushing of lips together than anything, but Alan amended that by giving him a kiss to the side of his face without thinking much about it. It was brave and stupid, but he felt it necessary. It brought a smile to Sam’s face, so it served its purpose.

And when Sam exaggeratedly leaned back into the couch, laying himself down across it, it took everything within Alan for him to not join him. There was no space or privacy afforded for that, but he was so accustomed to their routine that every night they spent separated felt like a mistake. There was nothing he hated more than going home without Sam.

But he did his part. He took the spare blanket that was sprawled over a side table, shook it out gently, and draped it over him. It was surprising to Sam himself, but true to what he did nearly every night, Alan smoothed it out over him, making sure he was comfortable like always.

“Alan, I-” Sam started, but Alan had to cut him off with a hushed, “I know.”

Even if it broke his heart to halt those words, it was too dangerous right now. It was too dangerous to say that sort of thing out loud.

But Sam understood. He gave a small wave, and Alan turned back and returned it as he stepped out the door.

It hurt Sam too, to see him leave like that. But that feeling itself was no different than what happened a few times out of every week. He just wondered if this new turn of events would mean it’d become a daily occurrence. And for how long... He didn’t believe he could tolerate it, if this was indefinite.

He was a tough kid, but he wasn’t that resilient. He wasn’t bullet-proof.

-

Quorra was the first one up and around in the morning, and Sam came to with the sounds of her fiddling around in the kitchen area. She was preparing to cook something, but he couldn’t tell what exactly. She hadn’t ever been a good chef, but she was earnest enough to try it anyway. She’d try until she got it exactly right; he liked that about her. She was determined. He could relate to that.

When she heard him stirring, she paused and said, “Good morning, Sam.”

He stretched out his arms and murmured, “Morning, Quorra.”

“Will Alan come by this morning?” she asked.

“Ye-” wait, that name. He immediately stopped and looked at her. “Quorra,” he rose to his feet slowly, like every joint ached on the way up. He was stiff and only half-awake, but this was important. He had to tell her before it slipped his mind.

She went over to him, curious. Silent and curious as a church mouse.

“Quorra,” he murmured very quietly, “Can you watch what you say about him?”

“Should I not mention him?” she asks quizzically, her eyes widening to convey earnest, even if she doesn’t completely understand.

“No, it’s just that…” he pauses, trying to wake up his mind in time to give an adequate answer. He manages with, “Dad, he doesn’t… know… about this.” He hopes those intentional pauses are adding the right amount of emphasis.

“This what, Sam?” she questions innocently.

He sighs a little. He thinks for a minute, not wanting to say it out loud, but...

Sam snags a spare napkin from the counter, and a pen from a nearby shelf. He lays that napkin flat on said counter, and writes slowly and carefully, making sure it’s clearly visible, “Don’t tell him that Alan,” he flipped it over, as he ran out of space, “is my boyfriend.”

“He is?” Quorra asked, suddenly excited.

Sam didn’t get her elation, but he made quick work to rip the napkin into a few smaller pieces before tossing it into the trashbin, just in case it turned up anywhere later. “Yeah, but let’s keep it between us, alright? It’ll be our secret.”

“I’m happy for you,” she sways, her whole body moving with a slight bounce that starts from her feet and echoes its way up.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. He’s feeling a bit concerned, but he’s hoping she got the gist of it.

For now, he needed just a little more sleep. Desperately.

-

“Page Alan, Sam,” he was startled awake by the man’s loud voice. He opened his eyes immediately, irritated at the surprise. But it wasn’t too surprising. His dad had always been like that; straight-forward and sometimes abrasive when the occasion called for it. It was just alarming to hear so early in the morning.

“I’m up,” he grumbled, as he sat up. He took a glance at the clock on the far shelf, realizing it was not nearly late enough. He could’ve done with another couple hours’ sleep, but clearly that was not happening.

“Page Alan, please,” Flynn repeats, as he sits down in a nearby armchair with a fresh cup of coffee, likely brewed by Quorra.

“I don’t think he’d come this early,” he says it without thinking.

“Why not?” Flynn asks sarcastically.

“Well, he does have his own family,” Actually, he really didn’t know. Whenever he spent the night over a weekend he’d leave around noon, but Sam didn’t know if that was because Alan liked it that way, or was indulging his terrible sleep schedule. Either answer seemed possible.

“Eh,” Flynn shrugged. “Page him. He’ll come.”

-

And he sure did. It took him an hour, but he strolled in. He immediately gestured to the coffee maker, “Is that on?” and when Quorra promptly nodded, he gave a little smile, “Great.”

“Sorry for the disruption,” Flynn apologizes, “But it’s important.”

“Sure thing,” Alan says, as he pours some coffee into a new cup from Sam’s cupboard. It’s probably a bad idea to act too comfortable around there, but he figures knowing where the cups are isn’t too much of a cause for alarm. “What is it?”

“We need to get back to the arcade,” Flynn says promptly. “I need to figure out what’s going on, before any programs start acting screwy.” He pauses, to think. “You, me, and Sam,” he points, “We’re gonna put our brains together and figure this out.”

“Can I help?” Quorra’s eyes are eager and bright.

“Sure you can.” He amends his statement with a grin, “Alright. Me, you, Sam and Quorra. We’re gonna solve this.”

Sam raises a hand, with a blank stare on his face.

“What,” Flynn asks, finding it somewhat comical.

“Can we get breakfast first?” Sam asks it calmly, but some annoyance shows through. His tiredness is starting to get to him, and he’s not going anywhere without some fuel in him.

“Boy, you had an hour to do that,” Flynn states.

“I had to get up, shower, get washed up, change…” he’s counting off imaginary figures above his head.

Alan laughs a little; he knows firsthand how long it takes Sam to get ready each morning. Precisely, around fifteen minutes or twenty, if he’s tired. He has no idea why he didn’t already eat, but it’s possible he just forgot as he often does. Without someone around to remind him…

“Alright, get some food and we’ll roll,” Flynn says, standing up to stretch his legs.

“Did you want to eat?” Quorra asks.

“Nah, I’ll wait a little while,” he gives her a small smile.

“I’ll go and feed Marvin, then,” she turns to Sam.

“Thanks,” he grins back at her.

-

“She’s really something, isn’t she,” Flynn says, as he pulls up a chair beside Sam, as he sits at his small table compiling a sandwich.

“Quorra?” he asks, hesitantly.

But the elder Flynn doesn’t get why. He gives an enthusiastic, “Yeah.” He continues in a lower voice, so she won’t hear them. “I was hoping you two would hit it off.”

Sam glances at where she is, crouched on the floor petting Marv while he eats from his bowl like the messy, clumsy animal he is. But she finds it endearing, and talks sweetly to him every time he accidentally drops some of his food, or slides his bowl over too far. “Yeah, she’s a good girl,” he says.

“You think there’s something there?” his father surprises him.

“What?” he needs to hear that again.

“You know,” he nudges Sam in the shoulder, grinning like a proud parent, “You see anything in her?”

“ _Dad_ ,” he whines a little, as he glances back to see Alan standing over Quorra, gradually introducing himself into her presence. He engages her in a conversation that seems pleasant enough, but the words are impossible to hear from where they are. “I don’t wanna rush into anything,” he murmurs.

“Ah, that’s too bad,” Flynn shakes his head. “She’s a rare one, Sam. There’s only one of her in all the world.” He gives a peaceful sigh. “I’d like to call her my daughter.”

“She already is,” Sam tells him matter-of-factly.

“Nah, you know,” he winks at Sam, “A different kind.”

He gets up to leave, and presumably join the others. Sam stares after him with a kind of melancholy he can’t voice or explain. That man had a way of being direct.

He had a way of making him anxious.

Sam sighs to himself, unable to express his annoyance otherwise. He knew that Quorra was a perfect match for him. She was an ideal match for almost anyone. She was tough, brave, smart and incredibly beautiful. She was more beautiful than anyone he’d ever seen.

But he was Luke, and she was Leia. He loved her as much as he could love someone, but that love didn’t include the arrangement his father was proposing. He couldn’t imagine viewing her that way. Her beauty and allure was a completely nonsexual thing that just made him happy to be around her. In his mind, that was good enough.

But in his father’s mind, he wouldn’t settle for anything less. If he turned down an amazing girl like Quorra, he’d need a good reason. He needed a reason that was better than his platonic affection. He needed a reason that was better than the truth, that he was already enamored with a man over twice his age. A man Kevin Flynn had trusted and confided for so many years; too many years, to forgive something like what he’s done. He’s gone too far.

Sam knows that. Alan knows that. Quorra may not, but it wouldn’t be too hard to get her to understand. Alan has abused his father’s trust, and Sam needs a miracle to ever make that okay by any stretch of the imagination.

He considered being slightly honest. He could tell his father he was seeing someone, and just refuse to bring them home. But how long could that last for… How long can you maintain a lie like that before a man as intelligent as Kevin Flynn sees right through it.

He could say he was dating a ghost. It’d be less complicated.

-

It was a long afternoon, and not many answers. At the very least, they managed to rule out what _didn’t_ happen. That may not sound like a lot, but it was a hell of a lot better than knowing nothing. Flynn could rest a little easier, knowing his few worst nightmares had not come to pass. There was no gaping hole in the grid. No open portal for programs to sneak out. Nothing suspicious. All systems normal.

Which made Flynn’s sudden appearance even more of a miracle, but less of a concern for the Grid and the world at large.

Notably, the man was hesitant to go back inside. Alan had a profound curiosity to see the new system, but considering how dangerous the climate was right now, he promptly decided against the risk. And for that same reason, Sam, even though he was willing, was not permitted to try it either. That being said, Sam was surprised at how much they could decipher and understand by just analyzing the code through the computer. It still felt incredible to imagine that a world that felt so real was nothing more than lines of numbers and clever tech genius. He was still stunned by it. Captivated, in a way. He said very little as Alan and Flynn worked, but he watched them very closely. Their shared genius for the material was fascinating. And he began to understand the mutual admiration they’d always had for one another. Alan may have been out-of-touch with the software, and his Dad may have been slightly off his rocker, but together they were unstoppable. They were confronting problems and asking questions it would’ve taken anyone else months to reach.

And around this point, Flynn finally told Alan about the ISOs. He specifically told him about Quorra, and how unique she was. Alan had laughed, but he spoke with astonishment, “I had no idea she was so special.”

And Flynn had said, “Yeah, she’s my treasure. She’s my gift to the world.”

Sam didn’t have a comment for that. But he certainly believed it. Quorra was worth more than he would ever be. It was around then that he left, saying he was stepping outside for a few minutes of fresh air. Which is true, really. He had no intention of going very far. He mainly stood idle outside the arcade, taking in the sounds of the street. The sun was setting; the street glowed orange and he had a sudden urge to take his Ducati out for a spin, and just drive until all hours of the night. Nothing cleared his head better than that.

But it wasn’t really his Ducati anymore, was it…

He sees Alan’s car parked along the side of the road. Studies it, thinking it looks strange without a driver inside it. It’s not an impressive machine, but it suits the man. Conservative, but not bad on the eyes. Well-kept, and clean. He wouldn’t mind taking it for a spin, just to see what it felt like.

The door opens behind him. But this time it’s Quorra, wide-eyed but somber in the way she approaches him. Her shoulders are slouched and she’s hesitant, almost like she’s not sure what to say. He greets her with a “Hey,” and gives a small wave of his hand.

She nods at him, explaining, “Their talks turned very… technical in there.”

“Too geeky?” he suggests.

“What is that word, ‘geeky’?” she tilts her head slightly, an apprehensive tug at her lips.

“You know, like…” He grins a little, as he tries and fails to find the right wording, “When someone’s obsessed with computers. So much that no one else understands them.”

“Oh,” she nods. “I was getting really confused,” she giggles.

“It’s a nice afternoon,” he tells her.

“It’s wonderful,” she surveys the street, taking a long look down the main stretch to see the sun sinking behind buildings. “Oh, I missed it.”

“Missed what?” he questions.

“The falling sun,” she says, beaming; her whole being at ease and contented. “I like to see it climbing down.”

“And in the morning?” he suggests.

“Yes, the sunrise,” she affirms. “I love the sunrise the most,” with a refreshed smile.

“Sunrise…” his voice trails off.

“Do you like it, Sam?” she tilts her head at him, leaning in slightly to capture his attention. Her black hair slides across her face elegantly, a few strands capturing the orange light of the sky.

“I’m more of a nighttime person,” he admits.

“Because you like to go driving,” she suggests.

“Yeah,” he grins. “I love the open road. Nothing but streetlights…”

“You must’ve liked our world,” she says grimly.

“Yeah, it was a nice change of pace.” He pauses, thinking of what more to say. Or rather, how to phrase it. “But I’d get bored if that’s all I ever saw.”

“Yes, new things are very exciting,” her voice is calm, and she gazes at him with a genuine, mystifying happiness. “Thank you, Sam.”

“For what?” he asks.

“For bringing me here. It’s incredible.”

“Yeah, it’s really something,” he tells her.

“You’re incredible, too, Sam.”

“What,” he’s questioning, as he turns to face her directly.

But their alone time is up. The doors open, and out waltz Flynn and Alan, glowing as if they’ve solved a world crisis. Maybe they had. At this point Sam was too tired to care. And too hungry, at that. It was his dinner hour.

And Quorra… What Quorra said…

He didn’t want to think about what Quorra said, but that was impossible.

-

There was no Alan that night. He left the minute they returned to Sam’s apartment, saying he was glad they’d made so much progress, but that he had urgent work to attend to.

It was very cold, the way he left. He’d given Flynn a warm embrace, but all Sam received was a quick wave, the same wave he gave to Quorra. He understood why, but it didn’t sit well with him at all. He’d never been much for keeping up appearances, and he hated that his own father was the exception. There was something criminal about deceiving his own parent. That had to be a sin in some book, somewhere.

He waited until his father had gone to bed. He waited until the entire house fell silent, and Quorra had retired to her book for the night. He’d tucked Marv into his little basket, and even waited for him to fall asleep. And he grabbed a jacket off the couch, used the phone to page Alan, and stepped outside.

He hated to act this spoiled. Chances were high that when Alan said he had work, he meant it. But Sam knew it couldn’t be too bad; it never was. Alan was just an overachiever, that couldn’t stand to not have things done on time. There was a small chance that he was wrong, but he was one to trust his immediate judgment.

And true to what he thought, Alan drove up roughly twenty minutes after he was summoned. But he was surprised to see Sam standing there, and when he drove up he was sure to close his car door silently, as if he knew they were treading on dangerous ground. “Sam,” he addressed him cautiously.

“Are you busy, Alan?” he ventured.

“A little,” he gave a polite, subdued shrug. “But it’s nothing that can’t wait.” He now spoke more intently, but quietly than before as he leaned in closer, “What is it, Sam?”

But Sam just grinned at him. “Spend a few minutes with me.”

“What,” he wanted to laugh. The things this kid said…

“Spend a few minutes with me, and I’ll let you go home without a fight.”

“Sam,” he frowned a little.

“ _Alan_ ,” his tone was weary and vaguely irritated. But he was quick to change his tone, “It doesn’t have to be here. Take me anywhere,” he shrugged, glancing around like they were in the center of a map. “Anywhere in this city, just for a little while?”

Alan initially rejected the idea, but he was weak when it came to this kid. He would do anything to make him happy. Anything. Even if he’d regret and pay for it later. If he was cautious… If he kept to what Sam said, and limited their time together accordingly, it wouldn’t be too suspicious.

“Alright,” he nodded, with a defeated shake of his head. “Get in the car.”

-

The road was vast and open. It was Sam’s favorite time of night; few cars, only a few, quick blinking light blurs rushing past them for miles. They drove farther than Sam had anticipated, but he didn’t mind. He’d found a nostalgic Journey cd in the glove compartment and popped it in. He was busy singing along at the top of his lungs, as he reclined the chair all the way back and kicked his feet up on the dash. Alan was too proud to join in, but he’d chime in to correct him whenever he got a lyric wrong, accidentally singing a few words in the process.

The open road, a blur of metal signs and light trails. Quorra was right; it wasn’t completely unlike the Grid at all. Similarly dark and vivid at the same time, and endless. Your eye could travel for miles and never find what was hidden along the horizon.

When Alan finally parked the car, Sam turned down the stereo and immediately asked, “So where’d you bring me, Alan?”

Alan seemed hesitant, as he switched gears to put the car in Brake. He was tense, from his stiff posture to his stoic face, “Just the park, Sam.”

“No hotel?” he asked slyly.

“Hey, you said a few minutes.”

“That’s enough time,” with a hint of a grin.

“Not for anything like that it isn’t,” Alan said. But he was losing track of what he intended to accomplish here. He couldn’t get ahead of himself, or relapse back into that familiar pattern, that game of cat and mouse. Frankly, Sam was too clever of a mouse and he was getting too old to hunt down anyone.

“Listen, Sam.”

“Yeah,” he had his attention, but he was weary of what was to come next. He wasn’t foolish; he could always detect any dramatic shift in the man’s mood. He understood his behavioral cues almost more than his own.

Alan finally slid his hands off the steering wheel, and Sam propped his chair back up, as if preparing to leave. But Alan wouldn’t let him, not yet. “I need to tell you something.”

“You can’t break up with me,” he cut in immediately.

“What?” Alan’s eyes widened in alarm.

“You can’t,” Sam grinned. “You don’t have my permission.”

“Sam, I…” he appeared horrified, but it didn’t take long for him to mellow and settle down. He shakes his head, giving an idle sigh, “How in the hell can you do that?”

“Predict everything you’re about to say?” a smart-ass grin on his face.

“Yeah,” Alan was exasperated. Clearly he’d intended this to be some grander reveal. “But look, Sam-”

“No, Alan.”

“Sam-”

“I said no.”

“Goddammit Sam,” his harsh voice immediately shuts him down. Alan realizes he’s gone a touch too far, but his frustration won’t let him stop now. Not yet, “I’m not playing around. This isn’t some game.”

“No, it’s just our lives,” he remarks grimly. He’s clearly offended. His entire expression shows it. His eyes are cold and his voice is even colder. “It’s just a relationship, right Alan.”

“Sam,” he tries to soften the blow just a tad, but the right words are not coming to mind. He speaks quietly as he slides a little closer, leaning in to seem a bit more sincere, “I enjoy being with you, Sam. But that’s not important right now. Can you understand that?”

Sam doesn’t say anything; he’s too occupied with being irritated.

“Sam,” he tries again, “Your father just got back from… The most incredible, arduous, horrible experience of his life. And I’ll be damned if I’m gonna just add to his misery.” He sighs. “Look, this thing we’ve got,” his voice softens. “I’ve enjoyed every minute of it, but it pales in comparison to what’s important. What’s important is the bond between you and him. You’re his son, Sam. You’re the only son he’s ever gonna have.”

Still, Sam says nothing.

“I’m gonna ask you nicely, to just,” he puts a hand on his knee, to offer a kind contact before pulling it back, “Let me go, Sam. Let go of this, for his sake. He’s the only father you’ll ever have.”

“You were my father, once,” he bitterly says.

“And that’s all I should have been,” he acknowledges. “Maybe that’s all I was ever meant to be.”

Sam nods, but he doesn’t speak. He grinds his teeth together like he’s wanting to talk, but the words are getting jumbled and caught up in his throat. His face is flushed and tense but it’s not because he’s sad. And when he speaks, all he can say is, “I get it.”

“I just want you to be happy, Sam. You and Kevin, as a family.”

Sam turns to stare at him, as if Alan’s missed the boat on something extraordinarily important. His face relaxes a tad, but he’s not any happier. He gives a grim smile that’s wide and shallow and says, shaking his head, “I hate this side of you, Alan.”

“I’m just trying to be reasonable, Sam.”

“Yeah, well,” he scolds him. “You and everybody else.”

Alan isn’t sure what he means. He sits back in his chair, as if he’s concerned Sam might reach out and hit him.

Sam’s as tense as ever, and wound up with a renewed vigor. “Ever since he showed up, everyone’s been trying to change my life.”

“Sam, that’s not my-”

“Everyone’s been telling me who I should date, and apparently that’s Quorra,” for the first time since he’d met her, that name came out with bitterness and resentment.

Alan’s face goes blank, but he does give a single nod. “That’s a logical decision.”

“Come on, Alan,” he growls, “You know I don’t care about that shit.”

“Watch your language,” he smirks a little.

“I don’t care about logic, and reason, and all your… god, whatever it is. I don’t want it.”

“Whatever it is?” he laughs a little. He’s not terribly amused, but it helps to lighten his own mood. It’ll keep him from falling apart under the stress.

“Yeah, whatever it is that keeps you conservative and scared all the time. Like it would kill you to piss off Dad a little. Newsflash,” he nearly spits it out, “He survived all that chaos in the Grid, he can survive this.”

“I think that’s a selfish thing to say, Sam.”

Sam just shakes his head, as he avoids making eye contact.

“I wanna do what’s right by Kevin, Sam. It wouldn’t be so bad to give him a break.”

“Alright, we’ll do what he wants,” he shrugs, but his entire expression conveys sarcasm. “Let’s just marry his gay son to his adopted daughter and call it a day.”

Alan doesn’t have a comeback to that. In truth he’s a bit startled by what he’s just heard. Sam is too busy sulking to notice, but…

“A… Are you gay, Sam?” he asks him tentatively.

Sam laughs cruelly, “Is that surprising?”

“You’ve dated girls before. Many beautiful girls…”

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean I loved them. You should know that, Alan.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You don’t love your wife, do you.”

He didn’t. He _couldn’t_. That personal stab hurt Alan more than he’d ever show or admit, but he lacked an appropriate response. Because apart from being offended, it’s not like he could deny that observation, however cruelly it was delivered. All he could manage was, “Let’s not talk about my marriage, Sam.”

“Sorry,” he said it quickly, but Alan was surprised he said it at all. The kid had more maturity than he usually gave him credit for. But he wasn’t anticipating his next bold statement, “Alan, I’ll let you in on something.”

“What, Sam.”

“Tomorrow, I’m gonna tell Dad I have a boyfriend.”

“What? No, Sam-”

“It’s up to you on… whether or not you wanna be that guy.”

“Sam-”

But his protest falls on deaf ears. Sam doesn’t hesitate to open the door and step out, slamming it shut with a loud bang that rocks the vehicle.

Interestingly, he doesn’t stray far; he stands idle for a moment, looking around before he climbs onto the hood of the car, perching himself there as Alan simply stares at him in disbelief.

It’s interesting, this view. Observing Sam from such a close distance, but knowing he can do nothing to reach or touch him. The sheet of glass between them feels like it’s a thousand miles wide. Alan was trying to accomplish something very important tonight, but even this first step aches more than he’d anticipated.

He thought he’d outgrown his childish sort of feeling. He thought he’d grown too old and jaded to establish a connection this strong with anyone. A connection so powerful that even this sensation of observing him like a stranger, of being so distant from the one he loves could be enough to inflict this kind of pain.

He can’t just leave. He can’t pull back, and let Sam fall. He can’t leave him out here in the cold. He can’t leave him, in general. He can’t abandon him, not when Sam is so unwilling to detach himself. Even when he’s this upset, the fact that he’s still glued to the car they drove in on…

Sam’s not ready to break up with him. If he was, he wouldn’t have become so angry. He wouldn’t have been so cruel, even speaking of his own father. Sam is clearly not ready or willing to let go. Not at all.

So, as an immediate reaction, Alan is not ready to break up with him. Because against his better judgment, he really would do anything for this kid. _Anything_. He could only deny it so far until instinct kicks in and compels him to rush to his side.

At this point, he could only close his eyes and pray. That hope against hope that some way, somehow, Kevin Flynn would find it in his heart to forgive him. At the very least, that he could forgive and maintain peace with his son. Because that clearly wasn’t Sam’s priority.  
When he stepped out of the car, it was with a new resolve. If he was going to take this crazy leap with Sam, he couldn’t do it with just one foot; it was all in, or nothing. And when he arrived to where Sam was, and leaned against the car beside him, it was with a renewed optimism that he said, “Let’s try going somewhere else.”

Because if they were going to Hell in a hand-basket any time soon, their time together had better be worth it. More than anything, he felt Sam deserved it. Anything to raise his spirits. Anything to repair what damage he’d done.

For Sam’s part, he didn’t say much. But he gave a small smile when he replied, “Okay.”

-

“Hey, do you remember when I first taught you how to drive,” Alan murmured, his back flat against the bed, his feet hanging off the edge.

“What made you think of that?” Sam laughs, as he’s hovering above him, unbuttoning the man’s shirt.

“You weren’t nervous at all. I was the one that was scared,” he grinned, as he took off his glasses, holding them delicately between his fingers, as if studying them. “I was so worried you’d crash and die, but you were so calm.” Sam pauses to take the glasses from him, as he leans away to place them on the bedside table, “Yeah, I wasn’t worried for a second.”

“I envy that, Sam. That spirit of yours. You jumped behind the wheel of a four-thousand ton vehicle and you didn’t even flinch.”

“I like a different kinda vehicle now, though,” he smirks.

“Something fast and shiny,” Alan says with a somber note. “Completely unlike me.”

Sam pauses for a second. He proceeds to unlatch the last of Alan’s buttons, and gently spreads his shirt open, running his hands across his chest. “Nah, that’s not true,” he says with a note of seriousness. He even frowns a little, “I love that old Ducati.”

“On your salary, you could afford a brand new one.”

“But I don’t want one,” he says. “I like the one I’ve got,” he leans down to kiss the man’s chest, dead-center. He murmurs, sitting back up to straddle Alan’s waist, “I don’t even wanna upgrade the parts.”

“With all the work you’ve done?” he asks skeptically, as he raises a hand to flirtatiously slide beneath the boy’s shirt, tracing upwards against his smooth stomach.

“Just to keep it running,” he leans back, teasing Alan with the view as he positions his hands to lift off his shirt, slowly stripping it up in a slow reveal of his chest. “If I wanted a new Ducati, I would’ve chosen one,” as he tosses his shirt to the floor.

“A new model like Quorra.”

“Quorra,” he shrugs, “her, or anyone else from the Grid. I had a lot of choices in there,” he grins, as he begins to rock himself back and forth, grinding slowly against Alan’s dick, even though it’s trapped behind a stiff layer of denim.

“But?” Alan suggests, to see where he’ll go with it.

“I love you,” he murmurs, pausing in movement. He hastily gets to work on Alan’s jeans, surprising him with the sudden change in direction. “More than anything.”

That… that could very well be the first time he’d ever heard that. It was arguably the first time he’d heard Sam express any level of affection like that before.

“Even if you’re an idiot sometimes,” he unzips his jeans. He slips his fingers inside the new opening, and Alan jumps when Sam’s fingers dance across his penis. Sam laughs at his reaction, and pulls them back with a grin, “Just kidding.”

“You brat,” Alan remarks.

But as Sam’s still laughing, Alan slides his hands up to his bare shoulders. “Come here,” he says.

Sam smirks at him, but he goes along with it. He abandons Alan’s opened jeans and crawls down to where he is, pressing their partially-clothed bodies together. But he wasn’t sure what Alan intended, considering it was impossible to have sex with pants on. Well, for the most part…

But Alan didn’t explain himself. He just moved his hands to Sam’s face, caressing it for a few moments, studying his features as if he’d never seen them before. Sam was looking at him with puzzlement, but he was taking in the experience as well. He never grew tired of seeing Alan stare at him like this, with complete adoration. Never.

And when Alan kissed him, it was the most intentional, steady kiss he’d given him in days. There was nothing accidental or clumsy about it; he kept one hand to Sam’s face and allowed the other to wander to run through his hair, caressing it as he applied the same grace and affection to his mouth. Sam even closed his eyes, for the first time in a long while. He closed his eyes and he steadied his breathing and he kept that kiss at a steady pace that was slow, gentle and defined by comfort.

And when Alan paused to murmur a quiet, “I love you so much, Sam,” he knew it. He’d known it before the man said it, just as he could always tell when Alan was especially enamored with him. His whole demeanor changed, like a man possessed.

They kissed and kissed, tasting each other’s lips with their tongues, chewing on them to savor the texture, licking inside each other’s mouths to re-experience what their spit tasted like. Unique flavors and sensations they hadn’t been able to indulge in for a short time that felt like an eternity.

It hadn’t just been a dry spell, since Kevin Flynn arrived. Alan had been hesitant and uncomfortable around Sam for days. He knew it was because of his inevitable marriage difficulties, but that didn’t make it less frustrating. Sam could forgive him for that, but he’d been yearning for the return of _his_ Alan, his lover.

For a moment he didn’t care about having sex or getting off, he just wanted to continue feeling his touch. But the more he felt it, the harder he became. His lust fed off it, and intensified. Before he realized it, he was grinding his body against the other’s more aggressively, rocking himself back and forth as Alan continued that deep, increasingly dirty kiss.

“Ah, this won’t work,” Alan finally joked, with a tug at the edge of Sam’s pants.

So they didn’t waste any more time. Getting down to business, Sam was nimble and quick to get the remnants of their clothing to the floor as quickly as possible.

And when he stripped off his underwear last, Alan completely understood why.

My God, he was hard. He was more erect than he’d ever seen him, especially from his view. From where Alan was staring up at him from the bed, Sam was glorious and beautiful and his erection was stiff and magnificent. Alan didn’t completely understand the impulse, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from it. He wanted to touch it. He wanted to taste and suck on it and devour him whole. He wanted to taste his semen in his mouth and return back as soon as possible for seconds.

The flash of sexual energy had Alan in a bit of a daze. Sam noticed his expression and laughed warmly, as his fingers went to Alan’s own cock, which was equally hard and ready to go.

In truth, Alan had intended to enter him. When he’d made the resolution to give Sam a good night, he wanted to do as they normally would, with a nice round of steady, hard-hitting sex and a restful night’s sleep. But the more he thought about that, the less he wanted it. Preparation took time, and Sam didn’t need any foreplay or readying; he was hard enough to fuck someone himself, at this stage. If they didn’t get to work, either of them might not last for very long.

So he abandoned his plans. He motioned for Sam to get close to him again, and he repeated his previous position. His naked body over Alan’s, every focal point in contact and hot to the touch. Alan was kissing him again, and Sam was grinding against him again, dicks pressing together, back and forth, making and breaking contact, teasing each other.

It was driving Alan mad.

So he reached a hand down, and grabbed hold of them both. And began to slide his hand up and down, doing his best to press and hold them together; it was rough and clumsy, but it excited Sam so much he gasped in his mouth. And he was quick to move his hand down there as well, facilitating the effort as Alan focused on holding and pressing their dicks together, while Sam, the more skilled with his hands, got to work on jacking them off.

There was something painfully erotic about this kind of mutual masturbation. It wasn’t just the sensation of doing such a lewd act at the same time, but the awareness that every twitch, movement or spasm your partner’s dick made would ricochet against your own.

And for all of Sam’s effort, he himself was growing weak. His hand was frenzied but his body was falling apart against Alan; he was sinking into his partial embrace with a series of sighs and moans. Alan took the hint, and began to lick his neck, just the way he liked, alternating between swirling his tongue around and biting down, just enough to tease the skin. The kid had a crazy high tolerance to pain, so he enjoyed the burning sensation of his tongue against that irritated flesh.

Sam’s breathing was getting erratic and uneven; he was closer than Alan had initially thought. So he wasted no time. He murmured a quick, “Let me help you,” in between the kisses he was planting along his neck.

“How,” he barely breathed it. He was too close to coming to speak properly. He was getting too close to do much of anything, apart from the one task he’d occupied his hand with.

“Let me suck you off,” he said it calmly, but he could feel the immediate reaction from Sam, as he seemed to shiver.

Sam was a good boy; he complied. He pulled his hand away, parted their bodies for long enough to move up closer, as Alan sat up, crawled forward and immediately fell onto his knees.

He was more quick to start than Sam had anticipated; he’d barely arrived into a good position when Alan leaned forward, enveloping his entire length in his mouth, bracing himself with a hand on Sam’s lower back and another pressed firmly against his leg. Sam wound a hand in the man’s hair, massaging it to a rhythm as he began to slowly, but intentionally slide himself further in and out of his mouth. Back and forth, Alan did his part and swirled his tongue around, paying special attention to the underside, where Sam was especially sensitive. And it’d make him shake, especially when he’d lightly graze it with his teeth, before returning to work with his tongue.

“ _God_ , Alan,” he barely managed it as he was already beginning to shake. Alan took that cue to begin sucking more and more, applying a special pressure to the head, to lightly tongue the small hole there before taking the whole member back into his mouth.

“Ah, _Alan_ ,” he was moaning as he began to pound his face at a faster rate; it was a tad disruptive, but the man did what he could to keep up. And he got a little more creative, and relocated one of his hands to Sam’s balls, grasping and fondling them like they were his own. He even found the spot between them, where he was especially sensitive; and when he applied pressure, Sam was making even more fuss, moaning as he clawed at the man’s back in an attempt to relieve the pressure.

He was lost in sucking on him, Sam’s cock deep inside, so deep he could taste almost every inch of it when he felt himself about to come, alarming as that was. It came out of nowhere, like doing this, seeing and experiencing Sam like this was something he’d desperately needed. Something he’d needed this badly, and he hadn’t even known.

He felt himself coming as he continued to assault and tongue Sam’s penis, an orgasm spreading through his body as some of his semen landed on Sam’s leg, and it became impossible for him to not notice what was happening.

“Alan, _Alan_ , Alan,” he was murmuring in an almost guttural, desperate way as Sam thrust himself in as far as he could go, a hand wound in the man’s hair to keep him still for as long as he could.

And Alan could taste that boy’s cum as it hit the back of his mouth, he could taste it as it poured down his throat and he closed his eyes to savor the sensation as Sam continued to fill him with it. It was thick and hot and that feeling seemed to engulf his entire being.

And when that outpour finally stopped, he cleaned Sam’s dick for him, licking it spotless before he pulled it back.

“Alan,” Sam was saying, with a big grin on his face as they resumed a more normal position, Sam on his knees to face him directly.

“Sam,” he acknowledged, out of breath and exhausted; but exhausted had never felt better.

A quick, but hard kiss on the mouth, “I love you.” And before he could answer, he gave him a strong embrace and murmured against this neck, “IloveyouIloveyou.”

“Sam,” initially, he was too moved to say anything. And when he managed an “I love you too,” into Sam’s ear, he received another kiss against the side of his face, before he sank back into his embrace.

He held Sam there for what felt like hours, but what could have been minutes. But there was something special about that moment, like they’d both just fallen in love for the first time. Sam’s body was smooth and coated in a light scattering of sweat; Alan was so exhausted he laid down on the bed and didn’t protest when Sam almost collapsed on top of him, kissing his chest before seeming to declare his mutual desire to sleep.

Alan’s thoughts idly wandered to the observation that they hadn’t cleaned up at all, and that semen from them both was still heavy in the air, and likely on the sheets.

But you know, fuck the sheets.

-

He’d forgotten what an amazing experience it was to wake up next to such a beautiful person. He’d studied him before he woke up, staring in amazement as if he’d forgotten what Sam looked like. Level but dramatic eyes, a slender, expressive mouth and a sharp nose framed over a perfectly symmetrical jawline. He’d seen this face so many times before, but he could never managed to grow bored of it.

It was with great regret that he had to bid him farewell for the day, but he’d promised he would return later in the afternoon.

“You have to be there,” Sam had said, as he smoothed a hand over his chest, their legs buried together beneath the sheets, “We have to tell Dad.”

“Okay,” even though that statement made him nervous as Hell, “I promise I will.”

The room looked surprisingly clean that morning; white walls, white sheets, and faint sunlight streaming in. And when Alan got out of bed, he stared back at the image of Sam as he was falling back asleep, bathed in that glow. He didn’t know how this creature had ever given him the time of day, but it was starting to feel like more of a blessing than a problem.

He knew that was his optimistic side speaking again. But it felt good to indulge it. Refreshing, almost. He hadn’t had much faith in nearly anything for so long that it felt damn good to have his one certainty be something as amazing and precious to him as Sam.

He really did love that kid. More than he’d ever know.

-

It was late afternoon, and Alan hadn’t showed. Sam was losing his patience.

When he’d first arrived back home, he was greeted with a curious, “Where’ve you been?” question from his father that was both incredulous and half-amused.

And Sam had commented slyly, “I was out.”

“Out,” Flynn had repeated the question for emphasis. “Is that what they call it these days?”

“Call what, dad?” he asked with a grin on his face.

“You know. Whatever Hell you’re raising out there.”

“Well,” he laughed, “You know how it is.”

“No, I really don’t,” he chuckled.

Sam just shook his head and got some juice out of the fridge. At that time, he’d kept quiet on purpose. Because he’d resigned himself to waiting until Alan got in, so he could reveal the full story with some moral support.

But that didn’t happen, because he wasn’t able to wait until Alan showed up in the first place.

“Was it a good date?” Flynn asked, his brow furrowing in interest, a grin still lurking in his expression.

“Wha… _Dad_ ,” he said, caught off-guard. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re in a pretty good mood,” he clarified. “And you just spent the night at someone else’s house.”

“Not a house, exactly,” he murmured.

“What? You’re crazy,” Flynn shook his head. “Man, in my day we did things the old-fashioned way.”

It was at this point that Quorra appeared, coming over to greet Sam. But when he saw her, he felt a spark of dread. He was certain she’d heard him and understood what he meant earlier, but this subject was too risky to take any chances. And like an idiot, when he’d been alone with her, he didn’t take a single second to explain just what was so risky about it.

He didn’t know if she understood the social and personal dynamics at work here, and why his Dad would likely, probably hit the roof.

“Like what?” he sarcastically asks, to distract from his own nervousness.

“Well, when you dated a girl, you _dated_ her. You took her to dinner, took her to meet the folks,” he gave an obvious glance in Sam’s direction, “You wouldn’t just spend the night with her and not tell us about it.”

“Are you sure, Dad,” he grinned to go along with the joke. “So in your day, Sam Flynn wouldn’t date someone without bringing them home…”

“That’s exactly right,” he smiled. “Especially considering what you’ve got here,” he briefly gestured to Quorra with his eyes, to make sure she didn’t see it.

Sam shrugged, “Well,” ignoring it on purpose as he threw his hands up, “You got me.” A small grin he couldn’t help, “I’m dating someone. Now can we leave it alone?”

“Come on, man. Really? I wanna meet her.”

“I don’t know…” he gave a hesitant frown, trying to think of a way to derail this topic. This was too soon. Much too soon. “You might scare her off.”

“What?” he laughed quietly. “Nothing scary about me.” He finally looked at Quorra directly, “Am I scary to you?”

“No way,” she laughed.

“You see,” he smiled warmly, “Quorra says it, so it must be true.”

To that, she gave a warm, somewhat embarrassed smile.

“Nah,” Sam allowed his mind to wander a little, as he quickly made a rush decision he would probably come to regret. But it felt like as good a time as any, for the smallest of the reveals. He didn’t need Alan’s help on this one. But he had to keep his eyes averted, glued to the floor, “Cause I don’t have a girlfriend, Dad.”

“But you were on a date?” he asks skeptically.

“Yeah,” he shrugs. And he finally looks up, able to speak with more certainty, “I have a boyfriend.”

What follows is an uncomfortable silence, mostly punctuated by Kevin Flynn’s profound surprise. But after he reels back from that, his wide eyes gradually returning to normal, he says, “Oh, well.” He shakes his head, his eyes wandering before he directs them back to Sam, “Boys are cool.”

Quorra looks at Sam, smiling. But her ambivalence is starting to concern him.

Sam shrugs and says, “That’s… cool,” with a small amount of confusion.

“But man, you don’t look that gay to me. Are you bi or something?” he asks with some skepticism.

Sam frowns, tilting his head in amazement. Of all things to say… _This man is ridiculous._ He manages a faint smile to keep the peace. “No, Dad. I like men.”

“Mm,” Flynn nods slowly. “That’s interesting. That’s real interesting,” he pauses to think it over.

Sam breathes a sigh of relief, as this reaction was nearly as terrible as he expected. This was the Dad he knew and loved; kind, patient and open-minded as ever. But…

“So what’s he like? …Your guy,” he ventures. He’s still hesitant to investigate the subject, but his curiosity is taking over. If his son was gonna drop a bomb like that on him, he might as well get the complete story.

Quorra’s looks at Sam with big eyes, her mouth parting in anticipation of what he’s going to say. She’s almost on the edge of her seat, as if she wants to speak up and answer it for him.

“He’s nice,” Sam says, nodding. But this all feels a bit ridiculous. So redundant, considering the context, “He’s smart and… uh, established in his work.”

Flynn repositions himself in his chair, turning to face Sam more directly. Sam notices that he’s wearing his clothes, which are comically ill-fitting and tight on him. But when you reappear after being gone for so long, he figures it’s normal to run into this problem.

The man is quick to snap him out of his musings, “But what’s he _like_? Does he have a name?”

“Dad…” he’s hesitant, for obvious reason.

“Sam, it’s been twenty years. Help me out a little.” He calmly explains, gesturing to Sam with his hands, “I’m trying to better understand my son.”

Sam nods, acknowledging his point. But he also can’t deny his own feeling of dread, which only deepens when he glances at Quorra to see her face as eager and anxious as it was before. Her bottom lip twitches slightly, as if she’s about to speak but she wisely holds back her words.

Sam sighs, “I’ll have to tell you later-”

“His boyfriend is named Alan,” Quorra cuts in quickly, nearly jumping from her seat.

This sparks Flynn’s interest, but it’s not for the reason Sam is concerned about. He’s just intrigued at finally catching a name, “Alan?”

Sam sends a look to Quorra, who seems to attempt to vanish in plain sight. She shrugs in an apologetic gesture, but her eyes maintain a serious look that conveys it was entirely intentional. But Sam wasn’t sure if she’d done more harm than good on this one.

“Yeah,” he sighs a little, “I’m dating Alan.”

Flynn becomes more relaxed, seemingly relieved at learning something about this mystery person, “That’s cool-”

“Your Alan,” Sam cuts him off promptly.

“My…” he trails off, studying Sam’s face for any details. As he reads his son’s serious, stoic expression, his own face shifts from that ambivalent curiosity to a restrained anger. “My Alan,” he nods to himself. And he starts to speak his stream of thoughts, and as he talks his voice escalates higher and higher, “Old guy, wears glasses, kind of stuck up, friend of mine for a _thousand_ years, foster parent to you for most your _life_.” He stops. “That Alan?”

Sam feels a shiver run up his spine, before he calmly says, “Yeah.”

His father doesn’t reply. Not at first. He just seems to slowly lose his temper, the frown above his eyes deepening, as he brings a hand to his face as if to try and straighten it out. He massages his temple with some amount of deep thought, before he asks, his voice low and cold, “For how long?”

Sam contemplates-

When he doesn’t get an immediate answer, Flynn demands, “Sam?”

Sam sighs a little. Yeah, this is going about as well as he’d expected. “I don’t know… a month?”

“Break it off,” his answer is prompt and direct.

“What?” Sam asks incredulously, with a sarcastic grin, “No.”

Flynn raises a hand, like he wants to hit something, but instead he settles for clenching those fingers into a tight fist. “No?”

“No,” he shakes his head, all traces of humor gone.

“Alright,” he says, rising to his feet. But instead of the bigger reaction Sam was expecting, his father just said, “You’re gonna kill me, kid. One day at a time.” And with that, he turns to leave the room.

Sam is astonished. “I’m gonna _kill_ you?” he seethes, turning to stare at him as he’s vanishing down the hall. “How can you say that to me,” but his voice is intentionally too quiet for the man, who’s now gone from sight, to even hear it.

Quorra leans in towards him, immediately perceiving his anger, her eyes heavy with sympathy.

“When you’ve been dead _all this_ time,” he snaps a little, before regaining his calm and forcing himself to sit down.

“Sam,” Quorra starts to speak, as she rises to approach him.

“What, Quorra,” he unintentionally sustains his anger at her, and he feels immediate regret. But it’s too late to take it back.

“Please forgive me,” she says, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I just thought he should know.”

“No, I,” he sighs to rid himself of his remaining anger, “I was gonna tell him anyway.”

“I see,” she leaned against the backside of his chair, not sure of what to do. She stared down at him sadly, idly stroking his back as he remained there, eyes glued to the far wall, body immobile and still.

And when he realizes something else, his stomach fills with dread. “He’s gonna kill Alan.”

Quorra’s eyes widen for a moment, and she speaks in a quick hush, “He wouldn’t do that, Sam.”

“No,” he gives a half-laugh, reassuring her, “I mean, he’s.. He’s gonna be really mad. You know, the figure of speech.”

“Oh,” she nods, with a relieved smile, “Okay.” But that doesn’t last, as she says somberly, “I’m sure it will be fine, Sam.”

“Let’s hope so,” but he doesn’t really believe it will.

-

“Sam, I’m so sorry,” were the first words Alan said, when he stepped out of the car. “The company ran into a bit of a crisis with a report, someone didn’t submit it right. I was hoping to get it finished earlier, but you know how it gets...”

“It’s alright, Alan,” he says calmly. Too calmly.

But Alan doesn’t notice, “Thank God you’re taking over, Sam. These people don’t know how to get anything done. It’s all a mess-”

He’s interrupted by a kiss to the mouth. Sam pulls back with a somber grin.

“What,” Alan’s almost afraid to ask. Doing something like that, in broad daylight…

“I told him,” he says grimly.

Alan freezes. He gives him a cautious look, “How’d it go?”

“Not too bad,” he sighs, “For me.”

Alan is about to ask, but he grins, as if expecting a battle. “The old man’s got it in for me, huh.”

“Looks like it,” he shrugs. His ambivalent tone betrays his genuine concern. “Be careful, Alan.” He idly reaches up and straightens the man’s tie, without even thinking, “Try not to say anything too dumb.”

“Like what, Sam?” he asks somewhat sarcastically.

Sam sighs, and gives him a small grin, “Something like, ‘Sam is amazing and doesn’t deserve me.’” But he turns more serious, “Or, ‘It’s all my fault,’ maybe.”

Damn. The kid knows him too well. He really had considered that second one. It’d crossed his mind as a valid argument.

“Blame it on me, Alan. He’ll forgive me a lot faster than you,” he smirks.

“You may be right,” he acknowledges.

Sam takes his hand, holding it for a moment before he lets go, leading him to the front door.

Alan doesn’t know what to expect. He’s feeling bold, but not that much. It’s a temporary courage, so he hopes this is over with quick.

But chances are high that’s not about to happen.

-

“Give us a minute, Sam,” is the first thing the elder Flynn says, when he sets his eyes on Alan.

“I think I’d rather hang around,” he says calmly.

“Sam,” the man scolds him.

He rolls his eyes, and steps back; but only slightly, retreating into the kitchen area where the sights and sounds of their conversation are still within reach. He didn’t trust his Dad to not get terribly unreasonable, or Alan to not succumb to it and become a martyr for his sake. Quorra was beside him, legs dangling off a stool perched high at the counter. She gave him a somber look, as if feeling some of that same nervousness he was. But in truth he didn’t really know what was going on in her mind. She was a bit of an enigma to him lately.

Kevin Flynn’s eyes were burning a hole through Alan, as he took a seat, in the armchair respectively adjacent to the space on the couch occupied by Flynn. He was smart; he had no intentions of getting too close, else he was certain the man would hit him. And he wasn’t afraid of that, but he wasn’t eagerly looking forward to it, either.

“Let’s chat, Alan,” he starts, in a more diabolical tone than he’d used in a while, calculating and irritated, “like old friends.”

“Sure, Kevin,” he projected as strong an air of calm as he could manage.

“You know, when I asked you to help raise my son, I didn’t have much in mind.” His eyes wander, almost wistfully, “I thought, you know, ‘when I’m busy and when the Grid gets to be too much work for me, he’s gonna need somebody to help keep him in line. Get him to baseball practice, watch him for a few hours when I can’t get home at a decent time.’ Nothing special, really.”

Alan is listening patiently; it’s a long-winded ramble to make a basic point. _When I asked you to help, I didn’t expect this much from you._ That’s basically the gist of it.

And it seemed true enough. He recalled that conversation. Back when Flynn had started building his new Grid, he was both excited and concerned; the man had realized that the more time he spent there, the less time he had with his son. And instead of choosing his son like a wiser man would have done, he only dove deeper and deeper into that system. The hours would pass and there were certain days when Kevin Flynn was simply too occupied to get home for obligations like after-school activities or parent-teacher meetings. On a particularly awkward evening, Alan Bradley had to pass himself off as the elder Flynn, surprising even himself at how easy it was. He’d ended up spending so much time with the young Sam that even his teachers couldn’t tell the difference.

It was sad, in a way. He’d always thought so, but never voiced it out of respect for the man.

“Right,” was all he said.

“But you have a different idea of _parenting_ than I did.”

“Strictly speaking, this doesn’t involve me as a parent,” he tried to clarify.

“Oh?” but it was irritated and lacked patience, more of a spontaneous sound than a word.

“I retired that role years ago. Sam’s too big of a man to stand for it anymore.”

Sam smiled a little to himself. _Alan_. That was completely not true. It may have been in his mind, but Sam knew better. Alan was just as much of a paternal figure as he’d ever been. That was a facet of his personality that would likely never change, not as far as Sam was concerned. It was ingrained too deep in that man’s wiring to look after him.

“That may be true,” Flynn shrugged, “Truthfully I don’t know about that.”

“Right,” Alan started, unsure of where he was going with this.

“But I was _occupied_ ,” his sarcasm is acidic and scathing; if he could roast Alan alive, he would get to it right about now, “I was busy being trapped in the Grid!” he exclaimed.

“I know, and I sympathize with you Kevin-”

“What’ve you got to sympathize with me?” he demanded. But he didn’t wait for an answer, “You can’t relate at all to me.”

Alan fell silent. He wasn’t sure entirely why, but that statement bothered him tremendously.

“Sam is _my son_ ,” he scolded Alan, “And I thought he was in good hands.”

“I did everything I could for Sam,” Alan clarified with haste, “I did everything I possibly could-”

“I trusted you!” he vents, before giving pause. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Alan. What’re you doing, seducing my son!”

“Flynn, I’m sorry-”

But he doesn’t care in the least, “Don’t ‘I’m sorry’ me!”

Sam finally chimes in, “This wasn’t his fault, Dad-”

“I don’t care whose fault it is!” He aggressively leans towards Alan, “ _You’re_ the adult here.”

“Technically we’re both adults,” Sam bitterly comments.

“I’m not talking to you,” he snaps suddenly. Sam’s shut down, primarily because he’s suddenly, furiously offended. He’s too offended to speak without saying something cruel. And so Flynn turns back to Alan, “Explain yourself. Before I kick your ass!”

Sam rolls his eyes, but thankfully his father doesn’t see it.

“I…” but the appropriate words wouldn’t come. He just sighed, and explained the best he could, “I didn’t intend for this to happen, Flynn. And if this offends you, I’m truly-”

“I don’t give a fuck,” his words are scathing. “I trusted you to raise my son, I thought I left him in good hands, and you invite him into your bed?” He pauses for emphasis, his expression of horror saying more than words ever could. “What were you thinking?”

Alan just shakes his head. There are too many wrong assumptions implied in that single statement. It’s overwhelming.

“What were you thinking,” his voice is quieted, to try and pry an answer out of him.

“I...” he shakes his head, trying to find words that still weren’t formulating anywhere fast enough.

Sam speaks uninvited, “I love him, Dad-”

“I don’t care! Jesus. You're just young and stupid. Go back to school and get a real girlfriend.”

Sam’s eyes widen in alarm. _Stupid_. He hadn’t heard that word in a few years. Not since he dropped out of school. That’d been the first he’d heard of that insult, in all his life. Making this the second. From his own father, no less. A man who was his only motivation for getting himself into college in the first place.

A man who seemed trapped in the idea that he was just a young kid, when he was already a full-grown adult. Most people his age had families. Yeah, they had careers but many of them had already been divorced. He’d been old enough to drive, drink, and smoke for almost a decade, and he was damn sure old enough to do what he wanted, on his own, like he had been for years before his father crashed the party.

How… How could he- Amazement, disappointment, shock. None of them could begin to explain the frustration and rage he was feeling.

And so he chose to leave.

“Fuck you too, Dad,” he says, rising to his feet.

“Sam?” he knows he’s gone too far, but he’s not entirely sure how and when. This isn’t correct. This isn’t right. Sam’s not his enemy-

But Sam’s already gone. He slams the door behind him, and the sound echoes through the quiet room.

Quorra stares after that empty space with a heavy sadness, like she wants to solve the problem, but doesn’t know how. She’s wracked by guilt but she can’t afford to let herself be consumed by it. She keeps her chin up, and her posture strong. She has to be strong for everyone else.

Meanwhile, Alan shakes his head and sighs. Flynn shoots him a sharp glance, and Alan remarks, “You’ve got a _real_ way with words.”

“And you’re so much better?” he asks sarcastically.

“I am, actually,” he stuns Flynn with his certainty. This is one subject he can speak calmly about. “I’ve spent twenty years with that kid. You think I don’t know how to talk to him by now?”

“Talk, and a whole lot else,” he snaps back.

“I don’t appreciate the way you’re speaking to me,” he’s slowly regaining his confidence. “And I don’t appreciate the way you just spoke to Sam.”

“Alan,” he groans. “Don’t start this now.”

“Start what?” he gives an irritated shrug. He leans forward, “A conversation about… How you don’t know to deal with your own kid?” He’s feeling a tad cruel, but the resentment’s been bubbling, rising towards the surface for too long, “I’ve got an idea.” He even grins a little, “Let’s talk about how you just alienated him with a single insult, that he doesn’t deserve.”

“Alan, what’re you on-”

“Flynn, that kid- Sam,” he corrects himself, to get closer to his point, “There’s very little things Sam’s ever cared about in his life. I can list them off the top of my head. Can you?” He sits back, as if anticipating an answer.

Flynn stares at him coldly, “I could take a guess.”

“Let me inform you, then,” all sarcasm fades from his face, as he does his best to be sincere and straight-forward, “He wanted his daddy to come back.” Flynn has an immediate reaction to this, but Alan ignores it, “and he wanted to graduate from college.”

“Well, that didn’t happen,” Flynn remarks with a sigh.

“Because, in his last quarter, he failed half his classes,” Alan informs him.

“What? Not my kid,” Flynn denies it strongly. But the truth is that he’s more surprised than anything.

“That’s the truth,” he shrugs. “He’s a smart kid, you know that, Flynn. I’m sure it’s obvious. But Sam, he…” he trails off, considering how to explain it.

“What, Alan?” he was growing impatient.

“He wasn’t able to complete his work,” he throws his hands up. And even from across the room, Quorra’s wide eyes are on him with a sudden interest. Alan clarifies, “The company was breaking new ground in stock and they’d announced the decision to release the new OS and he… He came to me, and said, ‘I wanna try getting involved in this thing. I wanna start this off right. I’m old enough, I’m smart enough, I think I’ve got the right idea.’ I knew he had school work, but I didn’t know how much. He’d never told me,” he shrugged, “So I got him a meeting with one of the top dogs on the committee, a man that’s too new for you to remember Flynn.”

“Right,” he prompted him to continue, listening with some respect for the first time since Alan had arrived.

“Now Sam spent all that week, every night, preparing his talk for that guy. He compiled stats, research, a complete argument… it was _really_ solid. Impeccably solid.” He paused, giving another sigh, “Now when he went in there… It was the manager, Dillinger Jr., a few others, and myself. Sam went in there, briefcase in hand, all that jazz,” he grinned a little, before the expression faded, “And got laughed out of the room.”

Flynn tilted his head.

“He’d spent more than a week cramming for this thing. And they laughed him out of there before he could even talk, Flynn.”

“I don’t understand,” he murmured.

“Because he was your son,” he said it matter-of-factly, “And they wanted nothing to do with him, or any of his,” another pause, to recall the word, “‘Flynn’ ideas.”

“So how does that relate to school,” he hastened him along.

“It was two weeks before finals. He thought he could get it all done in time. But he was so upset he just… dwelled and sulked. He lost days being angry, thinking, thinking on how to fix it… and when one of his professors called him stupid for putting off his work,” he nodded affirmatively, “he left.”

“Left,” Flynn can’t believe it.

“He walked right out. And never came back.”

“Poor Sam,” Quorra’s voice is a small murmur.

“I did what I could, Flynn,” Alan tries his best to take advantage of Kevin’s momentary calm. He needed to, or he’d never make it out of here alive. “I tried to get him to focus on other things, but he’s just like you. When he’s mad, he’ll tear the whole house down. He can’t see much reason anymore.”

“But now he’s involved with Encom,” he prompts him.

“Yeah, that was,” Alan managed a small grin, “One of the few things I’ve accomplished. Well,” he shrugs, “Apart from teaching him to play Baseball, and teaching him how to drive, both a car and that motorcycle.” He even laughs a little, “ _That_ was not easy. It was, honestly very terrifying.”

He’s hoping his humor has some effect on Flynn, but the man remains pensive. “Was I really… that absent of a father,” he murmurs.

Alan wants to be cruel, but he can’t find it in his heart to do so. Not now. He shakes his head, “No. He thought of you every day.”

Flynn listens to that with more patience, moved by the sentiment. But his face is tense and thinly masking some deeper emotion.

“I was never his father, Kevin,” Alan tries to communicate as genuinely as he can. “I never replaced you, for one second. Sam’s not an idiot. He always knew I was a stand-in, from the start.”

“You sure raised him like one.”

“Kevin-” he’s quick to jump to his own defense.

“That’s a compliment,” he cuts him off. He shakes his head, “I don’t understand what… any… how the _hell_ this happened, okay,” he even smirks a little to relieve some stress, “but I think you did a fine job in that department.”

“I appreciate that.” He tries a little more honesty, “He means a lot to me.”

“Too much, I’d say,” he remarks somewhat coldly.

Alan shakes his head, “So be it. I can’t control that, and I won’t try. I’m just a… I’m just one man. I’m not like your programs, Flynn,” he even smiles a little, “I’m a human, and I make mistakes.”

“So you admit this was wrong,” he suggests.

“It was,” he nods. “But it’s not anymore.”

This startles Flynn, who looks at him critically, an eyebrow raising.

“I know it’s right, now.”

“What,” he’s astonished; almost too astonished to be angry.

“This is what Sam wants.” He sighs, but it’s not because he’s upset, “I know you don’t like it,” he pauses to give Flynn a moment to consider his words, “But we’ve known each other for so long, I feel I can be honest with you, Kevin.”

“Go ahead,” but it’s quiet, and hesitant.

Alan folds his hands together, like a prayer, “I can’t explain how or why, but…” he bows his head slightly, avoiding eye contact to make sure he forces the right words out, “I love your son.”

Flynn says nothing.

But Alan looks at him directly, his eyes pleading for some kind of mercy, “He means the world to me. I would never do anything to betray his trust. I’d never take advantage of him, or anything that concerned mind of yours is probably imagining.”

“I’m imagining that you’re dating my son,” he growls sarcastically.

“And that would be true,” he chuckles to himself, “But I didn’t do this out of any ill intention. I want you to know that.”

Again, Kevin Flynn says nothing.

“You can be angry for as long as you like, but… It is what it is now,” he shrugs. “I’m not his father anymore; I never was,” he exclaims with a hushed voice. “I played that part for a little while, and I’m glad I got to. But that Sam is gone, Kevin. He grew up, became a bitter, jaded adult like the rest of us, and that child vanished.”

“Hm,” is all Flynn says.

But Alan takes that as a positive sign, all things considered. “Flynn, I would never, ever, ever begin a relationship with your son.” He specifies, “Not as the little boy he was. I’m not that kind of guy. I can’t even imagine being attracted to that,” he forces a small laugh, “And my feelings towards him for all those years were completely innocent. You have to believe me. Trust me. As your friend, for all these years Flynn.”

“And yet here we are,” his voice is laced with disbelief.

But Alan has a clarification for that too, “The Sam I’m dating is… a full-grown adult that’s turning twenty-eight years old.” He shakes his head, “He doesn’t need me to help him tie his shoes anymore. He’s making decisions for himself now, and this happened to be one of them.”

“So this was his idea,” he asks grimly.

“It came from both of us,” he shrugs, a tad resigned to that, “It was a completely mutual, informed decision. I didn’t force him into anything-”

“I got that,” Flynn cuts him off. He nods, “I get that.”

Alan sighs, finally starting to feel some weight vanishing off his shoulders. But the storm’s not over yet.

“Well Alan,” Flynn rises to his feet, stretching out his back along the way, as if he were exhausted, “I could go for some Zen right about now. You’ll have to excuse me,” he gives a small bow.

“I understand,” Alan politely responds.

He watches Flynn leave, as he can finally feel himself starting to breathe normally again. He exhales a slow, deep sigh of relief. When he glances at Quorra, she just smiles at him faintly, before getting up to go attend to Marv, who’s taken to roaming around aimlessly on the floor, as if searching for something.

“I’d better go see to my boy,” he murmurs it to himself, but Quorra overhears him and affirms a quiet, “Yes.”

-

When he steps outside, Sam is predictably standing there, with a remarkable calm on his face. In the sunlight he’s strangely radiant, despite the stress they’ve both been under. Alan’s doesn’t question his mood, but it only brightens further when the boy notices how collected the man himself is. There’s no trace of anger, hate or bitterness in either of them, and the expression they exchange is that of a small smile.

Yeah, so the war’s not over. But it’s a small start, all of this.

Without hesitation, Alan winds his arms around Sam, pulling him closer into a firm embrace. And as Sam sinks into his arms, he can’t stand to break that contact. He just holds him, holds and holds, swaying gently back and forth as he loses himself in the warmth that is Sam.

Sam murmurs a kind, “Alan,” that seems to make his life just a little more complete.

And he just continues to hold, and hold. He holds, and holds.

-

There was nothing Alan didn’t love about Sam. His laughter, his smile, his eyes. His ambitious nature, his recklessness even, his love to drive. His short showers and his unusual sleeping positions and his boisterous, Oh-my-God-I-am-dying reaction to Marv’s crazy antics. He even liked his clothes, his shoes, the way he brushed his hair, which usually took no work at all. He liked the way his skin looked when it was bare, and the dazed expression he’d give when he was just waking up.

He wanted to spend every day, for the rest of his life, with Sam. It was a feeling that had only grown in certainty, as they increasingly spent time together. He wasn’t a man to make promises, not with a failed marriage on his record. But he knew that, in this time, right now, there was nothing he wanted more than to wake up beside him every day, until he could no longer wake up at all. He’d support and hold and kiss him until his body grew so old he couldn’t move, and even then he’d still try.

Despite their age difference, he wanted to live long enough to see Sam grow old, even just a little. He wanted to see him through a fulfilling life, as a complete family. Just him, Sam, and whatever adorable furball he’d be carrying around at the time. He knew Marv wasn’t going to live forever, but for as long as having a dog like him made Sam happy, Alan would continue to help him take care of one.

There was nothing he wouldn’t do for Sam. Nothing.

So when Kevin Flynn came to him with a reaction that wasn’t filled with or defined by hatred, it was all the man could do to keep from smiling. He maintained his composure for long enough to hear the words that mattered. Kevin Flynn, a man as proud and stubborn as his son, admitting after a day of strained silence, “You have my permission. I won’t kill you.”

“Than-”

“But don’t think you’ve won me over.” He pointed at him rudely, “You’ve still got to prove your worth, Mr. Bradley.”

“Name your demands,” he replied, half-amused.

“You’re gonna help him fix that Ducati. I can’t stand the damn sound it makes when it revs up.”

Alan grins, “The rattling noise.”

“Yeah, I don’t know where it came from, but fix it.”

“Alright-”

“And make sure he keeps it. I don’t want that thing anymore.”

Alan’s smile turns more genuine; it’s unavoidable, now. He can’t help revealing some of his happiness, “Got it.”

“And don’t ever ignore a page, when he calls you.”

“I never have.”

And between them, they exchange a mutual smile, and a nod. Flynn hits him on the shoulder, a tad hard on purpose. As Alan flinches accordingly, but with that smile still on his face, that man remarks slyly, “Thanks for the years of hard work, Alan.”

“Kevin,” he questions.

“But you’re not done yet, so don’t relax,” he scolds him. “Now come on, we’ve gotta get back to work. There’s still something funny happening in the Grid and I don’t like it.”

Alan grins, shaking his head, “I’m right on it, Flynn.”

Kevin Flynn starts leading the way, as Alan Bradley follows him, as he notices they’re approaching towards his car. But there’s one more question on his mind, first.

“What made you change your mind?”

Flynn stops, and stands perfectly still, as he appears to think it over. He finally breathes in deeply, stretching out his arms before he exhales, as if letting go of the years of turmoil. He turns back to Alan with a warm smile, the first he’s sent in his direction for twenty years, and says, “I just thought…” he trails off, but his voice is definite and final, “It’s about time I did something right.”


End file.
